


A trip to the wild side

by KByrd



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-13
Updated: 2014-08-13
Packaged: 2018-02-12 23:04:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2127786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KByrd/pseuds/KByrd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint is horrified to hear that Steve has missed out on the traditions of camping - like roasting marshmallows and going skinny dipping. Time to remedy this lack.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A trip to the wild side

**Author's Note:**

> So, I just got back from camping and the sounds and smells of the forest are still with me.

"Ever been camping?" Clint asks Steve one evening as they're sitting at an outdoor patio watching crowds of people, mostly harried-looking businessmen and parents dragging children along by the hand, stream by.

"Like in the woods? Under the stars?" Steve says.

"Yeah."

"No, I'm a city kid from Brooklyn, remember? I wasn't even a boy scout. Closest I ever came to camping was sleeping rough on campaign when I was in the army. Didn't enjoy that experience much."

"We should go," Clint says. "Get away from all the noise and the bustle of the city."

"Maybe I like the hustle bustle of the city."

Clint can wax poetic about the adventures of his youth, both stories of travelling with the circus (and Steve is pretty sure some of the stories just can't be true) and even after he left the circus and lived rough off the land for a period of time. Obviously, those were tough times, but Clint still regales people with tales of catching enormous catfish and illegally 'harvesting' fruit from irate farmers.

Or the time he came face to face with a bear armed with nothing but his bow, and not a black bear, thanks very much, but a fucking Grizzly.

Natasha is doubtful. "Aren't they just a western thing?"

"I was in the west," he insists furiously. "Montana is the west and they have Grizzlies."

Natasha cannot be persuaded to consider a camping trip. "Closest I come to camping is when the Savoy is booked up and I have to stay in a two star hotel with substandard room service," she sniffs disdainfully.

Steve is less persuaded by the stories of hunting and trudging through bush than he is by the faraway look Clint gets on his face when he talks of remote lakes and bald eagles and campfires.

He agrees to an outdoors adventure.

Clint is delighted and promises to take care of everything from booking campsites to procuring the gear. He wavers on whether to take Steve somewhere really wild where they'll have to live off the land versus a more civilized experience in a national park.

"But I want to portage and really get away," he muses, "especially from those damn motor boats and sea doos."

He compromises eventually and books a week's worth of camping sites at a provincial park in Ontario.

Natasha agrees to drive them to their drop off point at one end of a lake system and promises to pick them up eight days later at the other end.

They drive across the border, three of them crammed into Clint's Honda, with a canoe strapped to the roof and a mountain of gear stuffed into the back.

The border guard looks amused but unsurprised. "Any guns?" he asks.

"Nope," Clint answers truthfully.

"Got your fishing licence, campsite permits?"

"Yes, all set."

He hands back the passports and wishes them a good holiday.

"I didn't really enjoy my last foray into the great white north," Steve recalls from the backseat where he's half buried by stuff. "I seem to remember that the drivers all seemed to have a death wish."

"Really?" Natasha responds. "I thought they had a reputation for being super polite."

"Myth," grunts Clint. "But, Steve, weren't you in Québec last time? Those are a different kind of Canadian."

"Wasn't aware they came in different flavours."

"Americans aren't all the same," Clint points out. "And Canada is even bigger."

They get to the launching point and load the canoe with the mountain of gear. Clint climbs in to sit at the back and directs Steve on how to push off and climb in. Carefully, carefully!

Steve pushes the canoe into deeper water then miscalculates and half jumps, half falls into the canoe which promptly capsizes.

Natasha hides her face in her hands and laughs.

They right the canoe and fish the gear that ended up in the lake out of the water. Luckily, it's all tucked away inside waterproof bags.

Another camper saunters over to give them a hand. "New at this, are you?" he asks gently. "You gonna be OK out on the lake?"

"We'll be fine," Clint assures him, "but maybe we should launch bow first so Steve can get in first."

They reorganize so Steve can get in first. He's soaking wet, but he settles in. Clint pushes off, steps into the canoe, balances gracefully for a moment and then sits down as smoothly as a dancer.

Natasha gives them a thumbs up. "I might hang around for a few moments," she calls to them. "In case you end up capsizing in the middle of the lake."

"What happens if we capsize in the middle of the lake?" Steve asks.

"We're not going to capsize in the middle of the lake," Clint promises.

The heavily loaded canoe is ponderous and low to the water's surface. Every time Steve shifts, the canoe rocks alarmingly.

Still, they manage. Clint calls directions to Steve whose only task is to sit still and paddle steadily. Clint steers from the stern.

The lake is beautiful. Despite being a well travelled park, the forest gives the immediate impression of wilderness. The campsites themselves are spread out and marked only by discrete white signs.

They pass the occasional canoeist or kayaker and call greetings across the water, but otherwise, they paddle in silence accompanied by the steady splash of the oars and the frequent calls of various birds.

It takes about two hours to get to their first campsite. Super soldier or not, Steve is tired, his muscles aching from the unaccustomed movement of paddling. They manage to land with no further incident and unload the canoe.

Clint hands Steve the tent and Steve gives him an incredulous look. 

"Where's the rest of it?"

"That's it," Clint grins. "Modern camping at its best. Let me show you."

The tent is composed of little more than flimsy poles snapped together and a thin shell of nylon. The sleeping bags are rolled into tubes no bigger than a loaf of bread and the pillows are rolled so tight they can fit into someone's hand.

Steve expresses his doubts that any of it will be big enough for two grown men and Clint laughs at him.

"Trust me," he says. "Modern camping stuff is great."

Dinner is coq au vin, precooked and frozen, served with wild rice, salad and crusty bread. They drink red wine from a box - glass bottles are a no-no when camping. They stuff themselves, then roast marshmallows over the dying coals of the fire like kids.

Darkness falls and the almost full moon rises over the lake bathing everything in an unearthly pale glow. The forest rustles with new animal sounds. An owl hoots.

"How about a dip before bed?" Clint suggests. "I feel like washing the city off me."

Steve is lounging against a log. "OK." Really he's tired in a good way from strenuous exercise and good food, but he's willing to follow Clint's lead.

They hike around to a big rock that drops into the lake and strip off. The lake is black and smooth. And very, very cold. 

Clint yells as he jumps in and hits the glacial water.

Steve dives down and stays down long enough for Clint to get a little worried. He emerges spluttering and shaking his head.

"God, it's cold," he exclaims, his voice echoing across the lake.

"Refreshing," Clint agrees with a gasp and a laugh. "I think my balls have retreated to my bellybutton."

They climb out and lie on the rocks, still warm from the sun, watching the moon and the stars.

"Last time I saw so many stars was when I was in Europe," Steve notes. "You just don't see them in the city."

"No," Clint agrees. "But I still think the Greeks must have been a little nuts to see the things they saw. I mean I can never identify the constellations."

"Pretty sure that's the big dipper," Steve points.

"Could just as well be that weird squirrel from Ice Age," Clint argues. "See, wide spaced eyes and a nose. And that over there is an airplane, or a giant bowl of popcorn, but I've never seen anything that looks like a crab or any of the other creatures in that astrological chart."

"Maybe you need copious amounts of mead?"

"Probably so."

 

When Steve wakes in the morning, the sun is up but it's still cool. He climbs out of his remarkably warm sleeping bag, unzips the tent and emerges, looking for a tree to water.

He's startled to see a deer at the other side of the clearing, barely ten feet away. It's much smaller than he's thought a deer would be - about four feet tall, pale brown, with enormous dark eyes and huge ears, swiveling warily in all directions.

He freezes and watches as she peers alertly at him, then steps delicately away, not rushing, merely moving off until she blends into the forest.

After breakfast, Clint gives him a lesson in canoeing 101 while the canoe is empty. The lake is like glass, smooth and unruffled and eerily quiet.

A loon pops up mere feet from their canoe. 

They break camp and move on, taking turns fishing and paddling. By the time they decide it's lunchtime (they've deliberately left their watches in their bags), they have a good number of decent sized fish in a bucket. They stop at an unoccupied campsite to gut and cook the fish for lunch.

They arrive at their booked campsite in good time. Steve sets up the tent while Clint prepares the next meal, another precooked, frozen gourmet meal with wine and cookies for dessert.

"How long will things stay frozen in that device?" Steve asks.

"This is the last of the frozen stuff," Clint admits. "From here on it's dehydrated camping meals or fresh fish."

"I saw a deer this morning," Steve admits. "Have you ever hunted deer with your bow?"

"Oh sure, but I'm not going to do it here," Clint explains. "First you need a hunting permit, second it's a national park and third, what the hell would we do with a whole deer? You really want to dress and butcher a whole deer and then haul it around?"

"No."

A few days later, they arrive at rapids too steep to canoe up. They haul the canoe out where a sign indicates 'portage' and pack all their gear into the the two enormous waterproof camping bags. Then they strap the paddles to the side of the canoe, pick it up over their heads and hike through the forest. It's hot and swampy, the bugs swirl around them but they can't swat at them because their hands are full. The path is steep and rocky and winds up and down and around until they are completely turned around. They can't get lost because this is a park, not true wilderness and so there are signs helpfully pointing in the right direction and indicating how far they have to go.

But it's still brutal.

At the end of the portage, there are picnic tables set up so they stop for a bite to eat before setting off again.

It's easy to lose track of the days. They've left their electronic devices with Natasha and they barely ever check their watches. They get up when they feel like it and eat when they're hungry. Clint shows Steve what to look for if they were living off the land. He knows what can be eaten and what should be avoided, but except for eating the fish that they catch, they're not living off the land. The pre packaged dehydrated meals from an upscale camping store are actually excellent.

"The military could learn a thing or two from these guys," Steve comments. "Instead of feeding soldiers MREs that taste like cardboard."

"Price points," grunts Clint. "Military goes for lowest bidder whose food won't actually poison the troops."

They see a beaver renovating his dam and step around a porcupine munching on seeds when they're hiking to a swimming spot. In some campsites, the squirrels rain pinecones down on them and in others the raccoons make a racket at night trying to access the bear bin where they carefully store food and garbage. 

They see eagles and hawks, geese and herons. They see deer almost every day and once maybe a moose (but from a distance).

The cicadas serenade them at some sites and the loons sing at dawn and dusk.

And one night as Steve is lying in his sleeping bag, half asleep, he hears the heavy tread of a large animal come lumbering slowly into the campsite.

He lies there quietly, listening, having learned already that even tiny animal sounds are amplified in the dark of the night. But it's not his imagination. It's a large animal padding around in the dark.

He hears the creature snuffle at the fire pit and snort as ash flies up, possibly into its nose. 

Steve tries to remember if they cleaned up the stove as thoroughly as usual or if it's splattered with grease from their evening meal.

He nudges Clint who sighs and murmurs sleepily.

There's a crash of pots and pans banging against each other and what sounds like a tree bending. 

Steve is acutely aware that he is unarmed and that the tent is little more than thin nylon. He shoves Clint a little harder.

"Bear!" he whispers urgently.

Clint sits up carefully and listens intently. He reaches for his bow, smuggled into Canada because no way would he go anywhere without it.

There's no further sound from the fire pit/kitchen area.

Clint unzips the tent, the noise sounding loud and intrusive in the now quiet night.

There's no need for a flashlight as the moon is bright and directly overhead. There's nothing in the clearing.

They both step out of the tent and stand back to back. Clint treads carefully in his bare feet to the edge of the clearing to get a visual on the bear bin, hung carefully in a tree several feet away. No sign of anything.

"Hear anything?" Clint asks.

Even with his super hearing, Steve can hear nothing out of the ordinary.

Clint shrugs. "Probably a raccoon."

"It was not a raccoon," Steve snaps at him.

Clint grins. "Well, it's gone now."

They climb back into the tent where Clint promptly falls back to sleep while Steve lies awake listening to the rustles and whispers in the forest.

They're at a different campsite when two rabbits hop carelessly into view. Clint has the arrows knocked and flying before Steve even registers what he's going to do. 

"Sorry," Clint says with a smirk. "They were cute, but I just couldn't resist. I'm like a cat faced with prey."

They gut and skin the bunnies and roast them over a fire, half wondering what they'll say if a ranger comes by, but they haven't seen any rangers on this whole trip. The fresh meat, seasoned with a package of spices from the upscale camping store is mouthwatering.

Near the end of their voyage, they meet up with two young women going in the opposite direction. The ladies want to know what they're in for at the big portage.

"It was brutal," Clint says with wide eyes, "buggy, swampy, steep ..."

They groan and suggest a joint meal to swap stories.

"We've got beer to offer, but not much else," Clint admits. "We're down to the dregs of our dehydrated meals."

"You like Indian?" they ask.

They set up camp at their own site and then paddle over to Clint and Steve's site to cook.

Steve's not sure if they are excellent cooks or if he's just jaded from so many MREs, but the meal is certainly amazing. Spicy and creamy with naan fresh enough to be soft. They eat and drink and swap stories.

The ladies (Ariana and Jenn) saw a bear while they were hiking the day before, but they shrug off the danger. "It was just a black bear," one says. Apparently they're from the west and are used to seeing bears, even Grizzlies, from their days tree planting.

Ariana tells a terrifying story of coming face to face with a salmon fishing bear and Clint follows up with a story of being chased by a pack of wild dogs. He doesn't bother to explain that he was in the Middle East at the time and the dogs were a guard pack for a local kingpin.

Details are not necessary.

Jenn has a story of white water rafting gone wrong.

Steve admits to being a city kid on his first outdoor adventure and everyone compliments him on daring to go on such a long trip.

Steve asks if anything exciting like an alien invasion has occurred in their absence and the ladies laugh and assure them that the world is marching along happily without them.

Steve and Clint had jokingly debated how Fury would contact them in an emergency. An airplane trailing a banner? A helicopter over the forest with a loudspeaker?

It's nice to know that the debate was merely academic.

Ariana and Jenn help clean up and then they wish them good night and paddle back to their site. Clint and Steve head over to a swimming spot that they'd scouted earlier and strip off for their nightly swim.

The lake of course has not warmed up, but they've become accustomed to the icy temperature. It's refreshing after a day spent working up a sweat paddling in the hot sun. It's also nice to wash off the layers of sunscreen and bug repellent.

They are in the water when Ariana and Jenn paddle back.

"Whoo hoo!" Jenn calls in delight. "Mind if we join you?"

"Please do!" Clint calls with an expansive sweep of his arms.

Steve glares at him.

What? Clint mouths back.

Ariana and Jenn beach their canoe on the other side of the rock and then emerge in their birthday suits to dive into the water.

Clint shoots Steve a triumphant look and mouths - camping!

They shriek at the cold but dive under and float in the lake until they are so cold that their lips are blue. Then they all climb out and sit naked on sun warmed rocks under the moonlight. The moon is only half full tonight so it's darker than before, but they can still see each other.

Steve sits in the dark and ponders how much social mores have changed.

He's sitting naked, next to two naked women whose last names he doesn't even know.

Jenn eyes him boldly. "You look like you've done some hard living," she says idly, "I've never seen anyone with so many scars."

"Ex-army," he says shortly.

She doesn't ask any more questions for which he is profoundly grateful.

Clint and Ariana are sitting very close and speaking intently to each other in low voices. Clint has given up shaving on this trip and a week of no shaving has left him with a full beard, making him look grizzled and tough. He's muscular, yet lean, with powerful biceps from years of practice with his beloved bow. He could pass for a decade younger than he is.

He's also charming and funny and a terrible flirt so it's no surprise that he's getting along with Ariana so well.

Idly Steve wonders if there's going to be a reorganization of their sleeping arrangements tonight.

Unlike Clint, Steve has continued to shave every morning.

"You're not going to want to deal with me dealing with an incoming beard," he assured Clint right from the beginning. "I HATE the itchiness."

So Steve is clean shaven even after almost a week in the bush.

Jenn eyes him with amusement, noting his discomfort. She pulls on her clothes even though she is still damp so he can feel more at ease.

She wonders if he is a swimmer considering his powerful shoulders, slim hips and long lean legs. He has a beautiful body, even marked with scars. And when he turns to looked at her, somewhat shyly, she notices that he has long, thick eyelashes.

A very nice strong jaw.

And a very nice smile.

Mmm.

"They're getting along very well," she observes.

He nods. "Clint makes friends wherever he goes."

"But you're a little more reserved?"

"My friends say that I'm very old fashioned."

He smiles and Jenn's heart does a little pitter patter. So cute. And so obviously not interested.

Eventually Ariana and Clint decide it's time to head back. Everyone puts on some minimal clothing and heads back to their respective campsites.

"You really seemed to be hitting off there with Ariana," Steve comments when they're far enough away not to be overheard.

"She was nice," Clint agrees. "She says that if we're ever out west, we should look her up and she'll take us on a hike through the rainforest."

"Where there are Grizzly bears?"

"Yup."

Humph.

By the time they reach the end of the lake system, they are pretty much out of food and tired of plain fish. Natasha is not there when they first arrive so they sprawl under a tree and watch other campers launch their heavily laden canoes. The dreaded sea doos are out in force at this end of the lake and they watch the riders (mostly young men) careen carelessly around, making waves that threaten to swamp the low lying canoes and generating noise that is all the more annoying after a week of not hearing motors.

Natasha arrives eventually and they load their gear into the car, tie the canoe to the roof and head back to civilization.

"Enjoyed yourselves?" she asks.

"Oh yeah."


End file.
